Candy Wrapper

By Kristen Gupton-Williams

(This is unfinished, but I figured I'd share what I've got)

We'd found him three weeks ago under that dilapidated mansion in Nibelheim. You know I, Tifa Lockheart, grew up there, always aware of that so-called haunted house at the edge of town. I never would have guessed that someone was in there, or rather, under there, as the case may be. He'd been in a box beneath the condemned building longer than I've been alive. Somehow, that seems surreal, but he was there. He was there for nearly thirty years.

And then we found him.

He hadn't said much since then, he seemed fairly cryptic about things. Hell, he was cryptic about himself all together. None of us even had a good appreciation for what he looked like, what with that cloak hiding half of his face all the time. And that arm…his left arm. He kept that hidden under the red fabric as much as possible, too. Sure, when he fought it would come out, it was a pretty decent weapon hand to hand, but otherwise, it was out of view. Vincent just didn't want to be looked at, period, and after seeing the ways that the others stared, I guess I couldn't blame him. I, at least, tried not to.

Everyone would forget about him even being with us far too often, as he was either hiding in the corner of the bridge, or on the deck of the ship, staring over the railing at the world below. That's Vincent-- antisocial in the greatest sense of the word.

The others made fun of him, both when he was around and when he wasn't. Especially Cid. Now, I love Cid, I always have, but he can be cruel, and I know that his little barbs got to Vincent more than he let on.

"Hey Sunshine," Cid would start, "we're going out to get something to eat. It's Italian food though, so I guess the garlic's a turn off for you, huh? Yeah, and they probably ain't got no virgins to accost in their beds there, either. I guess you ain't coming."

That's Cid. He doesn't mean to be half as much of a jerk as he is. He's got a good heart, I just wish he'd let Vincent in on that little fact. The guy could use a break.

And that's what I decided to give him.

I'd noticed over the weeks that when Vincent was standing alone in the corner, he would often pull candy bars out of his pockets and nibble at them when he thought no one was looking. It was endearing in a way. Here he was, some supposed former Turk assassin, trying to hide the fact that he had a serious addiction to chocolate. That was one of the first things that I noticed about him that the others all failed to, so I chose to use it to my advantage.

It was late one night, everyone else had turned in for the evening, including Cloud, which meant that I could do whatever I wanted without him keeping his annoyingly watchful eye on me. He wasn't my boyfriend, so I didn't get why he had to act so protective over me. It was…irritating.

In any event, I went up to the deck of the ship in the darkness and looked around. There, as I figured he would be, was Vincent, leaning against the railing, staring down into the depths below. I knew that he'd heard me come up, nothing got past him, but he didn't turn to look. He knew who was there, and he just didn't seem to care.

I walked over to him slowly, intentionally making a little noise as I went, as I didn't want him thinking that I was making some sort of effort to sneak up on him. Still, he didn't look. His eyes were fixed out into the nothingness that surrounded the ship. His mind was elsewhere.

When I got to his left side, I leaned against the railing, mocking his pose. There wasn't anything interesting out there to look at, so I knew that he was just thinking. He seemed to do that a lot.

I knew better than to try verbal communication with him right off the bat, as he wouldn't have answered anyway, and part of me thought he'd just turn around and leave at my intrusion.

But I had a secret weapon at my disposal. I held out my right hand, in which I was holding a candy bar. The same kind that I'd observed him eating.

He looked at my offering for a moment, and then turned his eyes to me.

It was then that I really could appreciate the color of those eyes. They were red, just as red as his cloak. They were like blood, and they narrowed as he gazed at me, seeming to pose the question of 'was I teasing him with the candy or was I actually offering?'

Deciding to give him an answer, I held it closer to him and gave him my most non-threatening smile. "It's for you."

His eyes narrowed even more, and his head cocked to the side slightly. After all of the teasing he'd been getting from the others, I suppose he wasn't sure if I was being serious or not. Slowly, his right hand, that being his normal one, emerged from beneath his cloak. It hovered for a moment between the candy bar and himself as he continued gazing into my eyes. Then, in an instant, it closed those last few inches, grabbed the offering, and then retreated.

He turned back to face out into the night, while he pulled back the wrapper. This was hidden from my view beneath his cloak, as it involved the employing of his left hand-- something he didn't want anyone to watch.

Knowing that I couldn't just stare at him, I faced forward as well, unwrapping the second candy bar that I'd brought for myself. I silently proceeded to consume it, seeing out of the corner of my eye that he was doing the same.

He was actually going to stay next to me and have his candy. I had, in a way, been victorious. I had made contact with something.

I finished my would be dinner first, and stuffed the wrapper into my pocket, knowing that I'd throw it away later.

Vincent finished his shortly thereafter, and he absentmindedly flicked his wrapper out over the railing.

My reflexes are fast, and at that moment, I realized exactly how fast they were. Before the wrapper had gone more than a few inches away from his hand, I'd reached out and snagged it from the air, a little surprised that I'd done so on instinct.

Vincent turned to me, looking almost surprised.

"We're trying to save the world, not make it a bigger mess," I said softly, as I shoved his wrapper into my pocket, but a different one than had my wrapper crammed into it. I'm sentimental, I guess. I intended to keep it and tape it onto a page in my journal. I know, it's sad and pathetic, but I don't have a lot else going on.

Vincent's eyes betrayed something in that moment, something that his cloak hid. He was smiling at me.

I couldn't help it and I reciprocated the expression. There was just something so calm about him. It was getting to me.

His head cocked to the side again, his eyes once more narrowing. "Thanks."

That was the first word he said directly to me. His voice was quiet, brooding. It told more about his past than he could have ever known. He was hurting, and he had been for ages. I wanted to ask what had really happened in his life, but I knew that we were no where near that point in our friendship. I didn't know if we were even friends. I wanted to be, but Vincent…well, no one knew what Vincent thought.

"No problem." That's what I replied with, and I felt like an idiot for it.

Again, I thought I saw a smile flash through his eyes. I'd wished that cloak were gone. It would make reading him easier-- if in fact he could be read. Maybe he couldn't.

He continued to consider me for a few minutes, seemingly completely comfortable with me there. Eventually, he turned his gaze out into the sky around us.

"You're the only one, you know."

I wasn't sure at first if I'd actually heard those words or not. Vincent's voice was not something I was yet used to. I was still looking at him. "The only one?"

Vincent stood up straight, reminding me of the fact that he was well over ten inches taller than I was. He turned to face me square on. "The only one who's made any effort to do anything in regards to me beyond trying to piss me off."

That was true. After seeing how Cid constantly hassled him, how Yuffie was always trying to get her hands into his pockets, and how the other men excluded him intentionally from their conversations, well, I knew it was just…true.

It made me feel bad, as though I was responsible for their actions and I felt compelled to apologize. "I'm sorry about all of that."

"Why should you be? You've done nothing," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest beneath his cloak. The act of doing this pushed the front of his cloak open a little, and the brass that made up his left arm glinted in the dim light.

I realized I was staring and Vincent did, too. Suddenly, I feared that I might have just blown all of the progress that I'd made with him thanks to this small lapse in tact. Inwardly, I kicked myself-- hard.

Whether or not he was hiding behind that cloak, I instantly could tell that he was frowning. He hastily pulled the fabric around him tighter, covering up what had shown.

"No, Vincent, it's okay." I reached out and dared to slip my hand beneath the cloak, knowing that there was a fair chance he'd pull out his gun and fire a well-placed round into my head in the next second or two.

To my surprise, and maybe to his as well, he didn't. He just looked down where my hand disappeared under the red fabric, confounded. Apparently, this had been the first time he'd been touched in any social way by someone since coming out of that box.

My hand was resting on what would have been his forearm. I had thought it would have been cold, being metal and all, but surprisingly enough, it was warm-- in fact, it was almost hot. I guess that made sense. It was a machine, and they tend to warm up when running. I found myself holding onto him and slowly, I coaxed that arm out along with my hand, until it was extended before him.

I met his gaze, making sure that I had permission before turning my eyes back to his arm. Even looking at him like this was something that I honestly felt I needed consent for.

I brought my other hand up, cradling his would-be wrist, whilst my other slid to the underside of his arm. It's strange-- sometimes there are things that you've seen several times in passing, but never get to see closely and when you finally do, you realize it's a lot different than you'd come to expect.

It was covered completely in that brassy metal, the only breaks in the surface being the lines that surrounded the few access panels to the inside, and the joints between his fingers and the underside of his hand. Those places seemed to be made of a leathery material that could flex with his movements.

The fingers were graced with talons, each being about four inches long. They were razor sharp-- that much I knew from watching him slash at enemies on the battlefield. Yet, their curve and the narrowness of them made them seem graceful, almost delicate. I knew better about the latter, again after watching him fight.

Those fingers then did something that I really hadn't expected. They curled downward until they were wrapped around my wrist in return. He was staring down at our joined hands with almost as much fascination as I was. I knew Vincent thought that no one would ever be able to lay eyes upon this part of him without having some sort of negative reaction, but I was there doing just that.

He thought himself hideous and a monster.

I thought that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Once more, I restated what I had said earlier. "It's okay."

I turned my gaze up to meet his. His eyes were blank, not showing what he was or wasn't feeling or thinking at the moment.

I wondered if I'd gone too far, and I asked, "Do you want me to let go?"

Vincent seemed to ruminate about the situation for a moment, his eyes narrowing as I'd now seen them do several times. "No. Not yet."

I watched as he again brought his gaze to bear upon our hands clutching each other's wrists. I couldn't help but wonder if he was debating ripping off my hand or not. I was aware that he was capable.

"I didn't realize how much I can feel with it." Vincent cocked his head to the side again.

I stared down at our hands, not really knowing what he meant.

I heard him exhale deeply before saying anything else. "I can actually feel you touch me. I was aware that I had sensation from it, but not on this level. You're warm, I can actually feel that you're warm."

How something that was hot to the touch could relay the fact that I was in turn warm seemed strange, but then again, everything about Vincent was strange. "Really?"

The small sound he made said that he had almost laughed, and his eyes told me that he was smiling. "Really."

"Oh…" I found myself lost in those eyes of his. No one had eyes like those, once more I was staring, but this time, he was staring right back.

We both remained there, frozen for a while, each afraid of what to do next. Something had just passed between us, although, I wasn't too sure yet of what that was.

I found out soon enough.

Vincent brought his right hand out and slowly reached up, pulling down the collar to his cloak in an almost timid gesture, until his face was revealed to me in its entirety. His lips showed no emotion at all, but his eyes did. Vincent was looking for more of my approval. He figured that I'd accepted his arm without any trouble, so he was going to show me what he looked like, too.

How he could have possessed reservations about his appearance I've still never quite figured out. Those red eyes may have been unusual but they weren't without their beauty, and his fair complexion stood out in stark contrast to his jet-black hair. The shape of his face and the slight angle to his brows and eyelids hinted to the fact that his ancestry by far wasn't a simple one. His predecessors had apparently been from more than one ethnicity. Vincent's mouth was interesting. When a thought was actively crossing his mind or when he was upset in anyway, he kepts his lips tensed, so that they were little more than a line. When he was relaxed in mind and body, though, they revealed that they were somewhat fuller than one would imagine, and they weren't pale like the rest of his complexion.

His jaw line wasn't overly masculine, not like Cid's anyway. Vincent's face was actually rather narrow, and his nose was sharp and straight. There was delicate quality to Vincent overall, not feminine, but definitely gracile. Simply put, he was beautiful.

And I was still staring. My expression was just a reflection of his own for the time being.

Vincent was waiting for my reaction, just as he had with his arm a short time before.

Swallowing my anxiety, I brought my right hand up from his arm, and I touched his cheek. I was surprised that he closed his eyes when I made contact, turning his head slightly so that his lips just brushed the edge of my hand.

He was starved for human contact after all of those years in that box under the mansion, and he seemed resigned now to accept whatever I was going to offer. I let my hand slowly glide away from his face, and once I broke contact, his eyes opened again and he looked at me, obviously waiting for something, but he was not going to be the first to make any move. I knew him at least that well.

"Vincent?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if to indicate that he would answer my question. He leaned just the smallest bit closer to me.

"Wh…what's happening?" I honestly wanted to know. This was a side of Vincent I knew no one had seen in decades, and I was at a loss. I knew what I wanted to happen at that moment, but whether or not he would reciprocate…

Vincent's gaze dropped back to where our two hands still gripped each other's wrists. There was a vague sense I got from him right then that somehow, by not just knowing what he was thinking that I'd hurt him on some level, but he wasn't going to show it, not much, anyway. His metal fingers gripped my wrist with just a little more force. He wasn't trying to hurt me, he just didn't want me to let go. And I didn't want to.

I stood there looking at him as he gazed at our hands again, his right hand still pulling down the collar of his cloak. Then I actually saw it for the first time. Vincent smiled, and I saw his lips make the expression, not just his eyes.

I couldn't help it, and I reached up to his face once more, but this time I placed my hand beneath his chin, guiding him to look up into my eyes for a moment, which he obligingly did.

I stepped closer to him, hoping that I wasn't grievously misreading the signals I was picking up on, or at least that I thought I was picking up on. Our bodies were just touching then, and I guided his metal arm around my waist and behind my back. I didn't care if it was artificial-- I just wanted him to hold me.

And, to my surprise, he stayed that way and brought his face down closer to mine. I don't know if he closed his eyes before our lips met or not, since I closed mine once I realized what he was actually doing. I tilted my head back just enough to offer up my mouth, and soon, it was in contact with his.

At first, he just hesitated with his lips lightly against mine, still waiting-- always waiting-- for some negative reaction at the last moment. Someone had hurt Vincent that badly, and now he had to be reassured at every step. Clearly, he thought this would all prove to be some massively cruel joke at some point. I pitied him.

I took the lead and slid my hand from beneath his chin and around to the back of his neck, bringing him down into our kiss properly. His lips were soft, and as they lingered upon mine, I felt him tentatively begin to part to my mouth a few times before he actually committed to it and the kiss deepened. Vincent was meek about everything physical it seemed, as his tongue would gently cross over, graze mine just the slightest bit, and then retreat momentarily.

It was maddening. Part of me wanted to become more aggressive about it, but I was too afraid of scaring him off. Vincent was like a wild animal in that way. His trust had to be earned, and you had to watch every step, lest you err and make some small trespass to which he'd take offense. We would do it his way. That's how it had to be.

After our lips had been together for a few minutes, his left arm that had gone behind my back drew me in closer to him, increasing the friction between our two bodies. With him being as tall as he is in comparison to me, I was enveloped by him as my two arms coiled around his narrow waist in return. His cloak fell around me, pushing the cold from my skin that I would have paid more attention to had I not been so rapt up in Vincent. But I was.

Vincent seemed to get a little braver with the kiss, and his movements became just a little more forceful, and with the firmness that was now pressed against my waist, I knew why. I had managed to turn Vincent Valentine on. That was a thought that I quickly became fond of. I had done the seemingly impossible. Not only had I gotten him to acknowledge me, look at me, talk to me, touch me, and kiss me, but I had him aroused.